


broken crown

by AvaMclean



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: BAMF Buffy, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Mercy's POV, Moon Called, POV Buffy Summers, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3438521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaMclean/pseuds/AvaMclean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Buffy attempted to save Lily, Rickie and Co, but failed miserably. Thus begins her adventures in dodging the Watchers Council and fighting to become a lone wolf. (Fusion with Mercy Thompson. Series of Shorts)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. broken crown

Title: broken crown  
Prompt: #448 rabies @ tamingthemuse  
Rating: FR13  
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Mercy Thompson series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended.  
Note: Because apparently I needed to start a new series of short stories. 

Synopsis: In which Buffy attempted to save Lily, Rickie and Co, but failed miserably. Thus begins her adventures in dodging the Watchers Council and fighting to become a lone wolf. (Fusion with Mercy Thompson. Series of Shorts)

* * *

Samuel was still in the process of attempting to locate a phone to tell his father of the night’s events when David Christiansen’s grandson, John-Julian, made his way through the moonstruck wolves to Adam. I’d have called it brave, but knew better. Wolves were testy as a rule and wolves fresh out of change were best left alone. They might be under Adam’s control, but that didn’t mean Adam didn’t wish John-Julian harm for his part in keeping Jesse captive. 

Christiansen must’ve had the same thought because he placed himself between Adam and his John-Julian. 

In human form Christiansen was large, as a wolf he was larger still. I might’ve thought him pretty if I hadn’t been able to see the play of muscle beneath all that red-gold fur. The black surrounding his eyes made the amber color gleam in the dull light of the moon. The night had grown suspiciously darker now that Adam’s power waned, but his control of the wolves seemed ironclad—they watched him eager as puppies. 

That thought made my lips quirk and Adam spared me a frown before he nodded to Christiansen. John-Julian took that as his queue and met Adam’s gaze for the briefest of moments before directing it towards his granddad. “Three of the wolves Gerry tested on are still alive.” Adam’s eyes narrowed, gleaming yellow and I heard John-Julian swallow, “Grandpa, put a stop to their mistreatment, but they’re still caged in the warehouse.” 

I looked to Christiansen, his black tipped ears were pinned back and I had the sneaking suspicion that the mistreatment had gone beyond guinea pig territory and into actual abuse. Not that the silver and drug concoction Adam had been poisoned with couldn’t be considered abusive. My arm throbbed, reminding me of its brokenness, but when Adam motioned John-Julian, something told me he didn’t trust his voice, I fell in step beside him. Daryl took the other side and Christiansen kept himself between us and his grandson. 

The rest of the wolves remained seated, their eyes following Adam in the hopes that he’d call them along. Instead his hand settled on the back of my neck and the sureness of it helped settle me after a brush with a death curse—the broken arm still hurt like the dickens though. 

Our mismatched group made it back into the warehouse without incident with Daryl taking point. I wasn’t sure why this surprised me, but it did. Perhaps I’m finally learning this thing called caution. 

John-Julian pulled out a set of keys from the pocket of his cargos and led us towards the stairs I’d taken hours earlier. My feet dragged a bit. I not want to go back up there, but rather than dally I rolled my good shoulder back and sucked it up. 

We followed him to the office that was set directly beneath where they’d kept Adam and Jesse. “Two of them are in here. Both of them males, about nineteen years old. Runaways, I think.” Christiansen gave a woof and John-Julian spared him a smile before correcting, “ _We_ think.”

“The third?” Adam questioned, voice quiet. 

“She’s down there,” He pointed towards the office closet to the wall, “They had some difficulty controlling her. Rabid was the term tossed around a bit, but Grandpa thought none of them were dominant enough to keep her in line.” 

I caught the raising of Adam’s brow, but John-Julian released the deadbolt. This door’s lock wasn’t new and I learned why when we entered the room. Cages lined the walls and the room stunk of fear and urine. It wrinkled my nose and made me glance down at my broken arm because it must’ve been more distracting than I realized if I hadn’t smelled _that_ until now. 

Daryl moved ahead of us into the room, untrusting of John-Julian and Christiansen—not that I blamed him. I would wholly support the mistrusting of strangers from now on if it kept Adam and Jesse safe. 

There were three cages, but only two were filled. The contents of those cages were currently wolf-shaped; both too young and inexperienced to ignore Adam’s call. One of them was sleek, muscles smooth beneath a tawny coat, but the other looked like misshapen border collie. His massive body, in white and black, nearly overtook the cage, but his down turned tail and averted gaze told me he was the least dominate wolf in the room—size did not an alpha make. 

A pitiful sound escaped him and he hunkered down closer to the bottom of his cage. A thundering roar, that vibrated my sternum and made the hairs at the back of my neck rise to attention, answered his woeful cry and there was a thud from further down the hall. Adam turned, frowning as if the female wolf could see it _through_ the wall and I shook my head at his antics—alphas—but Adam turned his attention back to the cages when the wolves rose in response to her battle cry. 

“Settle down,” his tone was mild, but the power behind the words was enough set both wolves’ rumps on the floor. They watched Adam, heads inclined in unison, and the tawny one’s tail set itself into a casual back and forth motion. 

“Did you want me to free them?” John-Julian kept his gaze focused on the far wall. 

“Please,” the polite reply raised my brow and Adam spared a frown in my general direction which of course made me grin up at him. He shook his head and the hand on the back of my neck—I’d forgotten its reassuring presence—slipped away. 

Adam stepped in front of me, placing himself between cages and myself. I might’ve been offended, but since I’d rather not lose my life to a wolf with questionable control I wisely kept my mouth shut. Footfalls drew my gaze back towards the entrance and the grim set of Samuel’s jaw told me he’d gotten ahold of Bran. I offered him my good hand because I knew how much Doc Wallace meant to the Marrok’s wolves—he’d meant the same to me once. 

Samuel accepted my offered hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. Adam, after everything he’d been through in recent days, would’ve likely protested if we’d remained holding hands, but I still felt the loss of it. The cages opened and turned me away from the knowing look in Samuel’s gaze. The wolves made their way forward, cautious of the freedom, but now both of their tails were wagging. 

There was a warm presence at my side and I knew Samuel had placed himself along the side with my broken arm intentionally. “We need to get you to a hospital.” 

His observation turned Adam around and he frowned at Samuel before dropping his gaze to the arm I held tight against my body. “We free the last wolf first.” 

I’d been so concerned with Adam and Jesse I’d forgotten Christiansen had mentioned Gerry had been experimenting on six wolves. Mac was already gone, but I—we—could do something about the surviving three. I’m not sure how much of that showed on my face, but Adam nodded. “Alright.”

Samuel made a disgruntled sound, but turned to lead us from the room and towards the last door of the three offices. Christiansen now kept himself between the two new wolves and John-Julian. While they seemed content to simply follow Adam it was always best to be careful around the newly changed. I’d seen too many accidents up close and personal to worry about a wolf’s feelings this early on. Neither of them spared me a glance and as wounded as I was that made Adam’s control truly impressive. 

John-Julian took point, moving around Samuel. Brave of him to allow Samuel at his back after watching how quickly he broke Gerry’s neck and I gave him extra points when I heard his heart rate increase. A steady growl could be heard on the other side of the door and my brows rose with the fact that they put some insulation in this room. 

I must’ve said something aloud—apparently I was more hurt than I realized—because John-Julian glanced back at us before explaining, “She kept ordering Gerry’s wolves to free her,” he smiled, “Some of them listened.” 

My eyes widened and I watched Samuel’s head incline in a curious way. It reminded me of the way the wolves had watched Adam and a snicker escaped me. Adam’s hand was suddenly back my neck and the tired giggles faded away, but I resisted the urge to lean into him. Old wolves—especially alphas—if you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. 

John-Julian approached the last door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him from opening it. Samuel took the keeps from him, replacing him as something heavy hit it from the other side. My brows rose with the fact that this wolf hadn’t needed someone to free her and the frame cracked, the deadbolt holding just fine, but the wood surrounding it hadn’t stood a chance. Samuel glanced back at Adam and they shared one of those fathomless looks that tended to irritate me. 

Christiansen slipped around Adam and I, putting himself closer to the door and his muzzle down towards the crack beneath it. He gave another woof that was both articulate and, apparently, informative as the steady growl subsided. I watched a shadow cross in front of the door and it was followed by frantic sniffing. 

“Do you know her name?” Adam asked. 

“Buffy,” the urge to giggle was back and John-Julian explained, “Grandpa thought it fitting when he met her while in human form.” 

Samuel glanced at Adam, who raised his brows before closing his eyes. I heard the slowing of his heart before he called, “Buffy.” The sniffing stopped and the shadow retreated from the door, but his next calling of her name was filled with that steadying calm, “Buffy.”

There was muffled thud from the other side. Samuel’s shoulders rolled back before he unlocked and opened the door before stepping inside. When nothing exciting happened we followed him while Daryl hung back with the newbie wolves. My first impression was that she was on the small side—like I said; dominance has nothing to do with size—and pretty. Her coat held a merle pattern of black and grey with splashes of white here and there, but her face was predominantly white as if someone had dipped it into a can of paint. 

She watched us with narrowed blue eyes from her place in the center of the room where she lay on the floor panting. Her cage had been flung to the side and was wedged in the drywall propped along the interior walls. The bolts that had been holding the cage to the concrete were now just six or so inches of bent metal. 

“Buffy,” Adam called her and her head cocked, but unlike the other wolves her tail didn’t budge. 

Samuel made his way forward, but stopped when she looked up at him. The seriousness of her eye contact made me flinch and want to warn her, but after several long, tense seconds she huffed and dropped her jaw across her paws. Adam motioned the other wolves forward, around Daryl and I, and they bounded into the room. 

She was suddenly on her feet and making frantic noises—the human part of her might’ve shown restraint, but her wolf was too happy to suppress—as the three of them reacquainted themselves with each other.

* * *

I’d put off calling Bran Cornick, the Marrok, until given no other alternative and unfortunately that time was now. Giles had flown out to Illinois chasing a lead that had brought him into conflict with one of the Chicago packs. He’d managed just fine and I shouldn’t have been surprised by this—the Watcher tended to smell faintly of magic and old blood worked into the more subtle grassy mustiness that I associated with old books and Rupert Giles. 

I’d known he was a dark practitioner in his youth, we’d crossed paths in New York in the 70s, but it wasn’t until recently I learned he still dabbled. It made sense since a Watcher had to clean up as many messes as a witch on call for most packs, but it was a tricky thing keeping those types of secrets from a wolf. 

He had to have known I’d keep his secret. He’d kept mine when I’d come in to get books my senior year at Sunnydale High School with a birth certificate that claimed I was seventeen and declared me Daniel Osbourne. He’d called me Mr. Osbourne without missing a beat, but I’d embraced Devon’s nickname of Oz as quickly as it came about—embracing the need for me to play my guitar badly had taken substantially more effort. 

Giles’ use of magic had taken me longer to snuff out, but that dark magic was what saved him and left Leo’s pack scrambling for a few days. I’d never been fond of Leo, he’d never had time for a lone wolf—especially one as submissive as myself—and I’d never had much cared for those that thought submissive meant weak. I’m a lot of things, musician, compulsive hair dyer and I’m bad at finishing things, but I’m not weak. 

Which was why I located the picture Buffy and Willow had forced on me the night before Buffy’s seventieth birthday—the infamous thing known as a selfie—we’d taken it with my phone and I sent it to Bran before dialing his number. He answered with, “Daniel,” on the third ring. 

I might’ve thought him psychic, but I knew better. Plus I’d _just_ sent him a picture that included me—but some of my furry brethren don’t think with their human brain enough. “Bran.” 

“Was there something you needed?” 

“Yeah,” I paused, he sighed and that made me smile, “I’m looking for a friend.”

* * *

The end.


	2. I am Buffy(Hear me Roar)

Title: I am Buffy(Hear me Roar)  
Rating: FR13  
Word Count: 3000  
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Mercy Thompson Series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended. 

+

What do you get when you cross a werewolf and a Slayer? Heck if I know, but once again I’m somehow the punchline of some terrible joke that Xander would enjoy. I don’t know _what_ to call me, but Buffy Summers will do for the moment. Of course that name strikes fear in the heart of the not so many. Most of those hearts aren’t even beating which is both the point and besides it. 

So what’s a Slayer—scratch that—Buffy to do? 

I’m shrugging to myself as I make my way through a dilapidated church and towards a vampire that’s been giving the pack sleepless nights for the last few weeks. Adam was less than willing to listen to his newest(and youngest) pack member and since Giles had insisted on the importance of that Marrok guy not learning my secret I was stuck between a lie of omission and a hardheaded Alpha. 

Which sucks because one piddly sorcerer this Buffy can handle. The Master had been centuries old and just as irritatingly magical and I kicked that ass. Thoroughly, I might add. We’ll just ignore the itty-bitty fact that the Master killed me that first go around. I mean, I’m over it—for the most part. 

Besides from what Willow’s gathered this Littleton character has been undead for less than a year. Not that anyone _told_ me his name. I think the pack forgets that I have the same excellent hearing as the rest of them. So while they might be doing their best to keep me in the dark they all very much suck at it. So I’m willing to bet I’ve been turning furry longer than Littleton’s been a bloodsucker. Technically I’m wagering my life and that thought is doing nothing for this girl’s self-confidence. 

I might be talking myself out of my first foray into slaying since my spectacular failure in Chicago while trying to save Lily and Rickie. Only two of the eight runaways that survived the change were still among the living. Sweet-tempered Lily hadn’t stood a chance and somehow all the things Giles had sputtered on about after we learned of Oz’s wolfyness didn’t mean diddle squat. 

My Watcher had insisted Slayers were immune to the werewolf curse and yet somehow I was once again fate’s bitch. Literally. 

Werewolf status or not—I’m going through with tonight’s festivities. Adam’s order to remain inside had taken me _hours_ to push through and I wasn’t letting those sweat and tears go to waste. He was the reason I was hunting this stupid Master-wannabe _after_ full dark. Willow had worked her computer magic with Giles’ intel and found me three possible hideouts. Here’s to hoping luck was on my side for a change as I made my way through a church that been desecrated by suicide—my first pick of the evening. 

The inside of the building had been worse than the outside with a lovely ambiance of graffiti and broken glass. The dusty scent of vampire and the familiar mint of wolf had been heavy on the air, but beneath all that had been something rancid and rotting. Demons had always made my skin crawl, but now I knew they stunk too. 

My nose wrinkled against the stench as I headed into the basement where any self-respecting vampire would setup shop. The remnants of a kitchen with empty cupboards and more graffiti couldn’t distract me from the newer scents of motor oil and burnt grease that always meant Mercy. I’d hoped to get in and out before her and her vampire escort made an appearance, but the thought of Mercy facing a demon riding vampire with another vampire as backup made me hurry the hell up. 

I stopped being quiet and settled for quick. My life meant little if one of the few people in Adam’s pack that actually _liked_ me died. The liking was of the mutual sort. We outcasts had to stick together. 

I followed her scent towards a door that had a broken chain crumpled in front of it. That shiny and new steel likely meant Mercy was downstairs along with Adam and Samuel. My shoulders slumped as I realized I’d be taking Littleton out in front of witness—and Adam was totally going to know I snuck out. 

Definitely not looking forward to _that_ lecture. That was if Adam didn’t _kill_ me first—so not an exaggeration. 

The stake I’d made from a commandeered cue stick was stashed in the sleeve of my jacket and the knife—edged serrated to cut a mean slice of bread—was held in my right hand. The weapons check helped realign my priorities since I liked Adam and Samuel and very much wanted to save their collective asses. Ben I could take or leave, but he was pack and that meant something to my wolf. 

Princess could be demanding as hell and was currently a heavy presence in my chest. For the first time since being called as a Slayer I didn’t feel completely alone. It almost made me wished I’d been turned months ago. Her presence would’ve been a comfort while taking on Angel and his little harem. A growl tickled the back of my throat and it hurt to swallow it, but Princess made her point as I was shoved back on task. 

She was also kind of bitchy—probably because I named her Princess. 

That thought made me smile as I eased the door open and the stench of demon became overpowering. A snarl spilled past my curling lips, but the room’s occupants, blissfully unaware of myself, seemed content to just chat amongst themselves. It’s not every day I’m ignored by vampires and werewolves alike. 

While they were _ocupado_ I learned Mercy was injured, Ben was out for the count and Adam and Samuel weren’t in any shape to help. Samuel’s head swiveled towards me and those pale eyes narrowed before he threw himself at the crate’s walls. A crate that was way too small for his massive size. The flimsy metal didn’t budge and the flickering lights meant Littleton was mojo-ing it to the ground. 

Speaking of demon riding idiot; he was doing the usual bad guy monologue about blood, power and yada yada—the Master had done it better and with more bravado. 

“A new toy,” everyone looked my way as Littleton cackled, “she’s pretty.”

Mercy frowned at me from her place between Samuel’s and a vampire’s cage. I’m assuming said vampire was Stefan since it seemed highly unlikely Mercy would let some random vamp feed from her and I’m pretty sure that was vampire blood covering her chin and throat—gross and not at all beneficial to one’s life expectancy. 

She was still frowning when she sputtered, “B-Buffy?” 

Copper-colored eyes turned on me and I met his gaze a little afraid my wolf had subdued my Slayer abilities. The pull was instantaneous and utterly ignorable. I watched those freaksome eyes widen in understanding as the sitch this vampire got. I spared him a quirking of my brow before bringing the knife forward to tap against my thigh. 

“My Master likes you,” Littleton confessed and the childlike delight in his voice was just ew, “You’ll make a fine addition to the game.” 

“I’m not much of a team player.” 

Sarcasm brought snarls from behind me and Samuel struck his cage again as I made my way closer to my prey. Adam’s growls joined Samuel’s and the sound made my heart throb at the thought that my Alpha—hardheaded and tender-hearted—Adam was well and truly gone. The smile that played at the corners of Littleton’s mouth likely meant he assumed my unease was due to him. Idiot. 

The bitter undertones to Littleton’s scent had Princess baring our teeth. It was then I felt his master. A demon’s presence is unpleasant to say the least. It crackles along your skin and makes your bones ache. It’s irritating and creepy and terrifying, but Littleton’s jerky movements and emaciated form drew me out from the demon’s spell as fear tried its hardest to choke me. 

Littleton was nothing like the Master. He was worse. The part of me that simply _knew_ things told me Littleton was slipping from ridder to ridden with each passing moment. The spastic movements—as if two separate minds had control of his limbs—was a dead giveaway. 

He crooked a finger at me. “Come here, pretty.” 

There was an undercurrent of _something_ in his tone that reminded me of when Adam _told_ me to do things, but unlike Adam—or the Master—I didn’t feel compelled to obey. Unfortunately, the overwhelming presence of demon robbed me of clever rejoinders and I had to settle for, “No.” 

Those sunken eyes narrowed and he shouted, “Come!”

“Performance anxiety?” He sputtered and snarled, but it wasn’t nearly as impressive as the wolves behind me which helped fortified me enough to finished with, “I hear it happens to a lot of guys?” 

Someone snickered—likely Mercy—but Littleton was none too pleased. My job here was done.

He lunged, a sloppy reach for my shoulders as if he intended to take a bite. Sidestepping him was easy, the hard was getting the knife between us—serrated edge out—and opening him up from hip to hip. He stared at me, startled, and fumbled to keep his insides inside. 

His mouth hung open making his already unattractive face even more so. He stumbled back with wide eyes and sputtering vowels, but no actual words and yet the cages at my back still sprang open. 

I spun in the widening pool of Littleton’s blood and caught Mercy’s horrified gaze before I dodged Samuel’s first charge. Linoleum tiles are shit for traction which helped until Adam joined the party. Two wolves against one wasn’t what I’d call fair while I was doing my damnedest to avoid their snapping jaws and tiger-claws. Dodging attacks while not doing permanent damage was at the tippy top of my priory list. They weren’t being nearly as nice and within moments I was bleeding and out of breath. 

Defense isn’t my forte. A Slayer’s instinct and training is geared towards the offense. My next punch wasn’t pulled and the far wall shuddered under Samuel’s impact. I spared him a glance to ensure he was still breathing and Adam took full advantage of my distraction. 

The ceiling came into view and my chest burned from having the breath knocked out of me. Adam’s snarling face sat above me which put me on my back but, let’s be honest here, I’ve been in worse situations. He dove for my abdomen, teeth bared, before he changed course and buried them in my thigh. The pain was instantaneous and numbed me to all the other little aches—I’ve also been a lot better. 

Adam got hit with a closed fist and I felt bone give, but those amber eyes narrowed and he jerked, spinning me across the floor and into one of those not budging cages. The jeans ripped and my flesh made a similar sound as I felt his hold tighten. It might’ve been an unbearable pressure if Samuel hadn’t found it in his heart to distract me with another, sharper pain. His teeth went from skin to bone and I felt things in my shoulder crumble. 

That arm was suddenly useless and the knife clattered to the floor. I tucked my chin towards my chest to obstruct my throat, but Samuel seemed content to use my shoulder as his chew toy. I knew without outside interference I was about to be torn in half by two very pissed off wolves who would later feel terrible about killing me—which was absolutely no help at the moment. 

I hadn’t a clue if my immunity to the demon’s influence could be passed onto the pack, but desperate times and all that. I hoped Giles had exaggerated about the Marrok because Adam was about to become up close and personal with _all_ of me. I’d learned to hide what I was when I’d become the Slayer. Part of it was instinct, but a lot was glamour, kind of like pack magic, and mental shields.

Adam’s rage was a throbbing in my chest, but I pushed past my fear of being engulfed and dropped the wall that kept me incognito. If I’d had more time I would’ve done it gently, but there was no time and suddenly the pack was simply _there_. 

Not just Adam, but everyone. 

Comfort spread across my aching body and Princess whined—the sound echoed by me—and it sort of felt like coming home. My thigh was released and my shoulder jerked as Adam drove Samuel away from me with more skill than I and with far deadlier precision. I watched their silent battle a moment with more than just Princess in my head before I forced myself to roll over. Something in my left leg popped and had me wincing. 

My right arm was a swinging weight at my side, but I forced myself to stand and found myself blinking—probably stupidly—as I watched Mercy drop a battery on the stake already in Littleton’s back. Apparently she hadn’t needed my help after all and the fight behind me fell into silence. 

Adam was suddenly filling every available space in my brain, but I forced myself to remain upright even as Princess urged me to show the proper respect to our so very pissed off Alpha. I pointedly reminded of her the vampires still in the room by looking at them and she quieted since we both agreed the one pleading for Littleton’s life was too close to Mercy for our liking. 

Making my way closer took more effort than I’d care to admit, but Adam remained at my side and Samuel was a quiet, presence at our backs. Dispassionately, I watched Mercy finish taking Littleton’s head and knew from her scent that it’d cost her something to complete the task. She requested her bag and Stefan and I moved in unison to get it for her while the wolves shadowed Mercy. 

Something in my wounded leg pulled and the scent of my own blood became more prevalent. Stefan looked anywhere, but at me. His stiff stride beat my halting one to the bag and he returned to Mercy while the other vampire just kept watching me. I raised a brow at him and Adam snarled a warning. 

This vampire, with his macabre mask made of Ben’s blood, watched me with a curious expression that told me he wanted to taste the wound at my thigh. He’d die trying, but the glow in his eyes told me he didn’t quite realize that. 

“Andre,” Stefan warned as he handed the bag to Mercy, “we don’t need to court death anymore this night.” 

“We are honor bound to kill all Slayers,” he countered and swayed a little as if the scent of my blood was too much for his control. 

“You’re welcome to try,” I offered with a smile that was all wolf. 

“She is guarded, old friend.” 

The vampire spared a frown at Stefan before countering, “She is our enemy,” and then stupidly he lunged. Shoving Mercy aside and her cry of protest brought an answering growl from her shadows, but he was quicker than their snapping jaws. 

The stake stashed in the sleeve of my jacket was wiggled free and raised before his weight slammed into me. I’m not a lefty, but my aim was true—thankfully, because nothing pisses off a vampire more than being _half_ staked—and he crumbled to dust, but the momentum of his impact brought be back and down. 

Once again I was staring up at the ceiling, but wavered and I frowned up at those retreating watermarked tiles. The scent of blood, vaguely I realized it was my own, saturated the air. A door somewhere far away open, but I couldn’t will my head to turn. 

I blinked and suddenly Daryl was standing over me with the scent of burning flesh wrinkling my nose and he looked more concerned than angry, but that didn’t appease Princess who was a rumbling presence in my head. The next blink brought Adam. Human Adam who looked worried and upset and Princess was still growling. Adam’s hand felt heavy on my cheek and suddenly Princess’ growl vibrated my throat. 

He lowered me to the ground and it was his turn to apologize and I tried to frown at him, but pain bowed my spine. I curled onto my side and whimpered as the change overtook us. Princess slipped forward, absorbing the discomfort and willing my body to slip from human to wolf. 

It hurt. Even with the buffer of my wolf this change hurt more than any of the others. It took longer, or at least it felt that way, and it left me a quivering mess with Princess in control. She snarled at the unfamiliar wolf that was in too close proximity and he pulled back a bloody forearm before Adam had us by the scruff of the neck and lifted. 

My tail curved between my legs and my eyes remained downcast as Adam’s stare bored into the side of my head before he huffed. “You and I have much to discuss.” 

A whine escaped, I couldn’t help it when Princess wanted forgiveness more than I needed my pride intact. Adam’s grip tightened and he bit our nose, a promise of retribution, but it also meant forgiveness to my wolf. The tail dropped, then wagged and suddenly Adam was left with a face full of my tongue as Princess’ excitement urged me into licking him repeatedly. 

Princess was content with his exasperated breath and I was smug with the knowledge that I’d irritated him. I might have issues with authority, but I was content with the fact that Adam didn’t hate me. 

Princess, however, was elated. 

+

The end.


End file.
